The Ink and the Reaction - A Story of John Watson's Tattoos
by jlocked2212
Summary: John comes home from a date upset and Sherlock tries to find out why. When he finds out John has tattoos, Sherlock tries to see where and what they are even if John is unwilling to show him at first. What kind of ink is John Watson hiding? Johnlock.
1. Experiments in Seeing

**A/N: Just quickly, I don't know a lot about tattoos so hopefully all my explanations make some sense when we get to that point. =D**

Chapter 1

John stormed up the stairs into the flat and slammed the door harder than necessary. Sherlock was jolted out of his thinking by the bang. He glanced over at his flatmate. If there was one thing that Sherlock could not miss about John, it was that he was neat about his appearance. But tonight, John looked rumpled. His shirt was only half tucked in, and his jumped was all askew. He also had a box of stuff under his arm. It was all stuff that Sherlock hadn't seen in a while but recognized as John's belongings. A couple of pictures, a jumper and two t-shirts as well as one of John's favorite books that he had lent to Sarah were all in the box. These were all things that Sherlock recalled he knew John had taken to Sarah and from that he realized there was a break up with Sarah. John had been going over there more and more frequently much to Sherlock's annoyance. Sherlock wanted John to be home making tea and solving crimes rather than spending time with Sarah. Somehow they had decided to give it another go. Sherlock disappeared for three years and as soon as he came back John started seeing her again which irritated him more.

Considering the care that John had used to dress and prepare for this evening, even buying extra milk so Sherlock would have some the next day, Sherlock had not expected him home tonight at all. So what was the problem now?

"Back so soon?" he called over to John who had begun to make tea. A grunt was the only reply he received. John continued to slam things around in the kitchen.

"I assume you brought all of your belongings home because she…," Sherlock didn't finish the sentence. John had turned around and was glaring at him.

"So ummm, er, what happened?" Sherlock asked trying to ask rather than assume. Even though he found it brilliant any other time, it often annoyed John when Sherlock deduced things about his personal life.

"If you're so bloody brilliant, why don't you tell me?" John grumbled. His face showed how much he instantly regretted the words. Now free to deduce, Sherlock jumped out of his chair at this challenge and walked over to John looking him over.

"Alright. You spent quite a bit of time preparing for this evening. You expected it to go rather well, maybe even expected to stay at Sarah's but not on the couch judging by the amount of cologne you were wearing when you left. But something went wrong. Very wrong and you brought home all of your belongings. She boxed them up so you are not invited back. Now, you're upset, but you're angry not sulking so I assume you broke up with her. There was an argument and judging by the state of your clothes after you made it into the bedroom so it was something physical, probably about you. Since you got upset and you broke it off the problem was with you …but what was wrong?" Sherlock said all of this very quickly just a few inches from his flatmate's face while John's hard stare grew more and more icy.

"Right, I'm going upstairs," John growled through gritted teeth. He walked away from Sherlock and left the tea on the counter.

"Oh, and I would say this had something to do with size, but since the only piece of clothing that looks disturbed is your shirt…I would say this has to do with your upper half. My guess is your scar." Sherlock surmised. John paused.

"Close Sherlock, but no not the scar,"

"Damn, there's always something," Sherlock grumbled as John pounded up the stairs to his room. He tried to go back to thinking about the serial killer that was making their way around London, but John's problem kept pulling at him. He tried to shove the insignificant mystery into the back of his mind. What would make Sarah push John away? What would disgust her? Frighten her? Anger her? He kept going around in circles trying to piece together what could be under John's clothing that would cause a reaction like that. He couldn't quite figure it out so he went back to the serial killer.

Next morning

John came downstairs in the morning without a jumper. He was wearing just a long sleeved button up shirt. The sunny weather in London often did not get hot enough to make him go without one, but this morning it was quite warm out. He wasn't exactly happy about just wearing a button up shirt. The very thought of wearing just a t-shirt made him twitch. Last night with Sarah had been awful. Then he came home and Sherlock saw everything, saw right through him. Sherlock didn't know his secret but now he was interested and that meant he would know soon. Just the Sherlock skipped downstairs in his blue bathrobe and pajamas and lit the fire.

"Why the hell?! did you light a fire when it is the warmest day of the year?" John screeched.

"Experiments," Sherlock shrugged. In truth he was experimenting, but on John. John was upset from his break up with Sarah. He probably wouldn't be going out today unless forced. It was also warm. If he made it warm enough, he might force John into changing into different clothes and then Sherlock deduced he might be able to find out what John was hiding under all his clothing.

After about an hour, John unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt. He was reading on the couch against the far wall and right under the smiley face. Sherlock saw the quick movement and grinned as he continued to research on John's laptop. He had looked through all the folders and the bookmarks. There was nothing about surgery or scaring. Sherlock continued to think in circles.

Another hour. One more button.

Sherlock got up and started examining a slide on his microscope.

"John."

"Hmm."

"Come here and look at this."

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm reading."

"Just come over here."

John got up and moved into the kitchen. He sat down in front of the microscope. As he leaned in, so did Sherlock. John's shirt lifted away from his neck and his right shoulder just enough. Sherlock saw a patch of red and brown but he couldn't make out what it was.

"Tattoos," he breathed and instantly regretted it as it slipped out of his mouth. _I think better when I talk aloud_, he had once told John and old habits die hard. John stiffened. He stood up and looked at Sherlock for a moment.

"Experiments? You mean prying?" John steamed. He kept shifting his weight and didn't look away from his flatmate, but Sherlock wasn't listening. Instead he was using the new data to try and assess what went wrong on the date the night before.

"Sarah…tattoos? What is wrong with tattoos? My God, John if this is it then you are better off without her," It didn't make any sense to him. A lot of people had tattoos. Many people were proud of them, not just many people…almost anyone who did showed them off in some way.

"Leave it alone." John called. He pulled his jacket on and left the flat. Sherlock didn't see him for the rest of the day.

Two days later

The detective and the doctor were coming up the steps into their flat after another successful case. Sherlock was still pondering the patch of color he had seen under John's collar.

"Where?" Sherlock asked. He blocked John's path up the stairs with his body.

"Where," John repeated confused.

"Yes. Is it just the one on your shoulder or are there more?"

"Tats again?"

"Yes."

"No." John shoved his flatmate's arm out of the way and tried to go up the stairs.

"Why?" He had always been unaffected by John's need for privacy, but he couldn't resist any longer. He wanted to know what they were, where they were and why John was so determined to hide them.

"Why what?"

"Why was she upset?" Sherlock continued to block his path.

"We're back to Sarah?" John rolled his eyes and continued to try and push Sherlock's arms out of his way.

"Yes."

"I don't want to talk about it with you Sherlock."

"Who else will you talk to it about then?" It was a low blow and Sherlock knew it but he wanted answers. "You're afraid I'm going to reject you if I see them because the last person you trusted did, right?" Sherlock had walked around to the front of John.

"Everyone rejects me."

"When have I?"

"You're not the most reassuring person in the world, Sherlock!" John roared.

"But I have never rejected you. I accepted you into my life the moment you stepped into the lab at Barts." Sherlock met John's gaze but he looked away.

John was silent. Sherlock waited. He didn't deduce anything. He just waited. Waited for John to decide. He wanted to know so badly it was almost torture to keep his fingers from tearing the clothing off of John.

"No." Sherlock dropped his arm and followed John up the rest of the stairs.

"Damn," Sherlock swore and moved into the kitchen to start working on experiments again.


	2. Understanding

**Just a bit before I begin. I don't own any of the BBC characters. Sherlock is all theirs but I wish they would hurry up with it! **

Chapter Two 

Sherlock and John collapsed into their respective chairs after a long night running through London catching thieves and chasing bandits. John fell asleep almost immediately in his chair but Sherlock was still coming down off his high and couldn't calm down enough to sleep yet. These were the moments when Sherlock usually made bad decisions.

Sherlock watched John sleep for several minutes. Then he quickly closed the space between them and undid one button, then two, then a third on John's shirt. Sherlock started to move the fabric aside….when John's hand grabbed his.

"I may not be in the army anymore but that doesn't mean my body doesn't wake me up when someone's too close," John murmured and Sherlock pulled his hands away. John buttoned up his shirt again. Sherlock tried another tactic.

"John I thought you trusted me,"

"I do."

"So why is this such a problem?" John opened one eye.

"Why should my tats, my personal tattoos, which you only found out about two weeks ago, because you were a prying git. Why should they be any of your business just because you want to see them? Plus you just tried to take a look at them while I was asleep when I've told you several times no."

"What if I have to identify your body?"

"Just assume I'm not dead. Go to my funeral and mourn for three years then I'll come back everything will be fine." Sherlock winced at the cutting words. John's comment told Sherlock a lot more then he meant it too. Even though he had been back at 221B for eight months now, John often was still angry at Sherlock for abandoning him.

"John we've been over this. I had to jump. I survived and I came back as soon as I could. I'm sorry that it happened. I'm sorry I hurt you but no matter how many times I say it you don't believe me."

"I do believe you."

"Then why can't I see your body."

"Sherlock they aren't directly connected. Because they are mine and they are for me. They are not there for you to look at and deduce about." John gritted his teeth. The conversation was not going well for Sherlock. He was losing ground instead of gaining it. He was getting desperate.

"You and anyone you go to bed with. Your lovers," Sherlock added and sneered the last word thinking of Sarah who had rejected John for the markings on his body.

"The ones that don't run, yes" John closed his eyes again. John saw Sarah's face behind his eyes.

"I didn't run. I was pushed away to protect you."

"You aren't my lover." John challenged.

"I could be." Sherlock breathed. John paused for a moment, closed his eyes then smiled and shook his head.

"Only until you got what you wanted. Then I'd be without a heart and without a flatmate." Sherlock was surprised. John usually would have denied he was gay or said something to change the conversation. Normally, but he was distracted. Sherlock stored the information again.

"Maybe not." Sherlock said in a soft voice. John smiled.

"I will show you the tattoos someday but not today and not tomorrow." John murmured again. He fell asleep and Sherlock decided to try and sleep too. He didn't sleep. He ended up in his room reading and planning.

One month later

Even Sherlock couldn't control the weather, but he could scheme accordingly. He had caught the murderer two hours ago. Instead of finding John and them both going back to the flat, Sherlock had taken the criminal in and left John floundering around looking for them in the rain. He had gotten back ten minutes ago and claimed to have let his phone die. Therefore he couldn't have told John what had happened. Sherlock had asked the Yard to call John after everything was finished.

John was now walking across the street back to the flat. He was soaked and the rain was still pouring out of the sky. Sherlock smiled.

"Why the hell didn't you come back and get me?" John roared as he took off his jacket.

"There wasn't time. I was afraid that murderer was going to overpower me so I went to the Yard after Lestrade found us. I thought they would call you. My phone was dead remember?" Sherlock played innocent. John stared at him hard.

"I need a shower then a cup of tea."

Sherlock waited until he heard the shower turn off. He went upstairs and waited outside the door hoping John would move from the bathroom to his room, just down the hall, without a shirt. Sherlock planned to wait but he started to get impatient. He tried the handle but it was locked.

John came out. He had an undershirt on but he was still pulling a button up shirt on over his shoulders. Sherlock got a glimpse of the brown and red again. A lion intertwined with a rose. John buttoned up his shirt and Sherlock saw nothing else.

"What are you doing?"

"Brought you a cup," Sherlock handed the tea over. John drank.

"God, that's awful."

"I tried."

"Yea, alright. So what are you really doing up here?"

"A lion and a rose?"

"Argh! Sherlock…."

"Most likely representing England, pretty intricate design too. If they are all that intricate, it took a long time and quite a bit of money. This is something you value. Something important. It's not just modesty. It's something you value but others don't understand. But why don't they understand. Why didn't she?" Sherlock continued to ramble. He followed a miffed John down the stairs.

John poured out the bad tea and put on another pot.

"They aren't all that simple. The argument wasn't about that one. "

"So it was about a tattoo but not that one. Need more data."

"Why is this so important to you Sherlock?" The detective considered for a moment before he answered.

"Because, it's you John." John stopped for just a moment considering.

"Nice try." John walked back upstairs to his room. Sherlock went out in the rain again. He didn't return for several hours.

"I wasn't lying." John had just opened his door. Sherlock had been sitting against it. His hair and jacket were wet from the rain.

"About?"

"I want to know because it's you. You are my only friend, John, and I'm trying to understand you. Obviously this is important to you. So why shouldn't it be to me?"

"You aren't going to let this go?"

"No." Sherlock was still. John sighed.

"We'll do this at my pace and how I want to." John resigned. Sherlock was on his feet in a second grinning in triumph. He turned to face John. He waited. John took a step back and closed the door in his face again.

"What? John?" Sherlock looked at the closed door confused. The triumphant smile had vanished from his face.

When John emerged he was wearing a T-shirt that had no sleeved. Obviously they had been cut off for some reason. Sherlock looked at the pattern probably because…he stopped his brain for once. He didn't care why. He could see John's skin and it was magnificent.

"Oh."

John didn't say anything and he didn't meet Sherlock's gaze. He just waited.

Starting at his elbow on the right side, John had a black snake that wrapped around his bicep and the head with red eyes had its fangs sunk into a heart on his shoulder. A red hawk held onto the heart on the other side. When John flexed his arm uncomfortably under Sherlock's intense gaze the two animals pulled at the heart and both seemed to move across John's skin. It was incredible. Sherlock couldn't see the whole hawk or where it tied in with the rose and lion that he had seen before on John's clavicle.

Sherlock reached out his hands and motioned for John to step closer. Instead John went into his room and sat on his bed. Sherlock followed.

On his forearm there were three flags. They were small and disconnected from the rest of the intricate puzzle. A Union Jack, a British Army flag and an Irish tri color. Sherlock picked up John's arms and examined them thoroughly. He traced the lines and observed every detail and every color change.

"Why the tri color?"

"Ancestry."

Sherlock continued to stare at the snake and the hawk.

"When did you get this?" Sherlock asked. He ran his thumb over the snake head. John shivered at the contact. Sherlock stored the information.

"Right after I got back from Afghanistan. I finished it about a week before I met you. It was still healing as you dragged me all over London looking for that bloody cabbie." John smirked. Sherlock was still trying to figure it out. The lion and the rose were about England. John was a fierce patriot. His ancestry and his loyalties were displayed as well. He looked at the snake and the hawk and tried to analyze the tattoo. What else did John do? Who else was he? Suddenly it clicked in his mind.

"Greek mythology," Sherlock smiled brushing his fingers across the snake again.

John nodded. His eyes were locked on Sherlock's face.

"Apollo is the god of healing and is usually represented by a snake but the black venomous snake represents Ares, the god of war. Apollo the healer is instead represented by the hawk. War and healing. You are a soldier and a doctor. Your two identities are pulling on your heart." Sherlock suggested. John continued to nod.

"Most people don't read them quite that way." John explained quietly. Sherlock nodded.

"I'm not most people."

Sherlock moved to the other arm but it was blank.

"Saving space?" Sherlock asked.

"No inspiration since the last one."

"The shoulder?"

"I've had one or two since then."

"Where?"

"Here." John's hand went over his heart. Sherlock placed his hand over John's. He could feel his heart beat. It was fast. Nervousness? John licked his lips and dropped his hands. John had only become very nervous when Sherlock brought attention to this place. Is this the tattoo the break up had been about?

"She didn't like it." Sherlock suggested.

"She didn't understand."

"Would I?"

"Probably not," John shifted a little nervous again.

"Wanna try me?"

"Not today."


	3. New Discoveries

**A/N: Thanks for the nice feedback everyone! **

Chapter 3

It was another month before Sherlock saw the tattoos again. He was getting impatient but he had decided not to push anymore. John had promised to show them to him. John had to set the pace. Sherlock had backed off quite a bit, and the next time he saw it started out as an accident.

"John! Lestrade just called he needs us down at a crime scene. It sounds boring but we haven't had anything for a while so...John?" Sherlock ran upstairs. He didn't often have to come up to John's room but he pushed open the door expecting John to be ready to go. Instead, John was sound asleep on his stomach and he didn't have a shirt on. Sherlock didn't wake him. He just left, but he couldn't help what he had seen. He closed his eyes and tried to delete the images, but they were burned behind his eyes.

There had been a wing on John's left side of his back. The right side looked like it had a wing at one time but the design had been marred by the bullet when it ripped through the skin. There had also been something red, something else Sherlock couldn't identify; because he had been so afraid John would wake up and put them away. He had missed details! He huffed. Sherlock left in a hurry without bothering to try and wake John.

The crime scene turned out to be boring just as Sherlock thought and he was on his way back home within an hour. His phone vibrated while he was riding in a cab.

_Where are you?- J.W._

_Coming back. Anderson's an idiot- S.H. _

_Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? - J.W. _

_I tried. You were sleeping.-S.H._

He waited a moment before sending the next text. 

_You were on your stomach. Saw your back. Sorry. S. H. _

John didn't respond. Sherlock's anxiety grew as he got closer to the flat. He walked up the stairs expecting John to have completely redressed. He wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. Sherlock went upstairs. The door was closed to John's room. He knocked this time.

"Come in"

John was laying the same way as when Sherlock had seen him sleeping. He still wasn't wearing a shirt. He turned over slightly to see Sherlock and lay back down.

Sherlock approached John and studied the details on his friend's back. The ink was incredible and Sherlock was amazed at the designs again. On John's left side a black wing stretched from his shoulder blade all the way down to his hip. The wing was drawn to look like it actually attached to his back and muscles seemed to pop out of his skin. The more he studied the more he saw. Sherlock ran his hand down the length of the wing and John gasped.

"Your hands are freezing." He complained.

Sherlock continued to examine the wing but more carefully. He wanted to remember everything. He may not see John this relaxed or this willing to share again anytime soon.

"How did you design this?"

"Studying anatomy will teach you about things you didn't know existed." John replied. "I started with the design of an eagle but it wasn't working cause I wanted more of a bone structure to it. So I started over with a bat wing but added feathers. Thing developed from there. My artist really fixed it up though. "

"Incredible, absolutely extraordinary," John chuckled at Sherlock's interest. "What?

"Isn't that normally my line?" John laughed a little more as his body shook under Sherlock's hands. Sherlock smiled.

Sherlock looked for the other wing. The other side of John's back had been marred by the bullet. But still, the wing looked like it had only been started. The red and unidentifiable ink that Sherlock couldn't recognize earlier was the next thing Sherlock examined. It was a dragon. It was not as detailed as some of the other tattoos. This one was simpler. The dragon was mostly in a blocky kind of style. It had its head curled down so its muzzle was almost touching what would have been its chest. The wings were unfurled and the tail went down to the top of John's pants. It stretched from his last two ribs down to the belt on his pants. It was bright red but there were black and golden streaks through it sometimes along the outline. This was another representation of war, strength and power. It was also another winged animal.

He looked at the wing again. "Why aren't they symmetrical?"

"We aren't meant to fly Sherlock. I was always fascinated with angels and birds and wings and I wanted to fly but one jump off the swing at primary school and I knew I couldn't. I broke my arm. Somehow it turned into this concept that my wing had been torn off, that I was damaged. Before I got shot, the other side was the tendons and bones as if the wing had been torn off. Only after I got shot and came home did the tat make real sense. It was almost as if I knew what was going to happen. Fate has a way of being funny. Then when that got mucked up, I put the dragon there as close to the scar tissue as I could. At the time the skin was way to sensitive to go over. Later I could like when I…" He stopped abruptly. Even so, Sherlock wasn't listening he was still thinking about what John had said before.

"We aren't meant to fly…" Sherlock mused. "May I?"

"If your hands aren't as cold," John said gruffly. Sherlock bent over John's back and lightly ran his fingers over the scar. He could see where the ink had started but the skin that had healed over destroyed any sense that had been there. The scar tissue was rough under his fingers but Sherlock could still feel the muscles tense underneath.

"We aren't meant to fly." Sherlock repeated again. His hands trailed over the lines of the wing again. He was mesmerized by it. As his hands followed the lines, John started to speak. His voice started out raged but grew stronger.

"When you jumped, it was like fate was making fun of me again. I had been so interested in flying and wings but my best friend fell to his death and I couldn't do anything about it." John's voice trembled slightly at the terrible memory. Sherlock still couldn't see his face. John's head was turned away from him at this point.

"Only the angels have wings…on the side of the angels… but I don't have wings" Sherlock murmured as he replayed the conversation had had with Moriarty on the rooftop. It was so fitting that the man he had come back to life for had the wings of an angel painted on his skin. Sherlock was literally on the side of the angels. He was always on John's side.

"Hmmm..?" John questioned.

"Nothing." Sherlock still didn't understand why Sarah had been so upset over two months ago. This was who John was. It represented everything about him. Sarah knew many of these things before that night when John had stormed home. She knew he was a soldier and his life was dangerous. Their first date had almost gotten her killed so she knew more than most the dangerous life that John Watson lived.

"I still don't understand why she was upset." The muscles under Sherlock's hands tightened further.

"You haven't seen everything yet," was John's reply.

"But John, I understand. You have bared your soul, everything that you are, on your skin. Everything about you, everything that represents you is there. The healer, the soldier, the lover, the angel and the human man, all of you is there. What else are you? What could you have revealed that made her run? What made her upset?"

"Lover?" John picked up on that one word out of all of them. Sherlock stored the information.

"Lover of Queen and Country," Sherlock clarified. "Answer the question."

"The ink that you have seen doesn't explain everything about me. It only gets more complicated." John told him.

"I can handle complication."

John did not respond and Sherlock got up off the bed and left the room. He did want to know. He wanted to know what was on John's chest. The tattoos on his front were the ones he actually expected to see first. He thought they would be the ones that John was the most proud of. They would be on display the most often. Instead John seemed to want to hide them. Whatever he and Sarah had argued about was on his chest. Sherlock had made it all the way down to the living room now. He sat on the couch and waited. He heard movement on the stairs. He expected John to be coming down with long sleeves on again. But once again, John surprised him.


	4. The Revelations

**A/N: Thanks everyone again for reading. This chapter also contains some mention of self-injury just a but of a warning.**

Chapter 4

Sherlock was sitting in his chair staring at the ceiling with his palms flat against each other and fingers tucked under his chin. He waited to look over until John was about half way across the room. Even if he bolted, Sherlock would get a glimpse.

Sherlock changed the trajectory of his deep stare from the ceiling to John. He was walking toward him, still without a shirt. John's chest was an intricate design of ink. Sherlock jumped up ready and eager to touch and examine. He saw the lion and the rose intertwined again. This time he studied it for a moment longer.

He started looking and analyzing the designs all over John's body when he saw it. His breath caught in his throat. The instrument was beautifully designed and etched into John's skin even over some of the scar tissue on John's chest. Sherlock knew this would have been painful He put that information in his hard drive with the other reactions and bits of information about John.

In the center of John's chest was a violin. The neck stretched up between his pecks and the scroll almost reached the hollow of John's throat. The body of the instrument sat over sternum and his heart. It looked like a large S had been burned into the wood on the body of the instrument where the tailpiece and chinrest would have been. The silver strings formed the rest of Sherlock's name in a complex design of swirls and loops.

"John…"Sherlock whispered but John didn't look at him. He seemed as interested in the ceiling as Sherlock had moments ago. He blinked a few times. Then, he spoke.

"I thought you were dead and…I couldn't think anymore. I know you think I don't think anyway, but I do. I couldn't forget you or move on like everyone else was. When I slept, I saw you falling. I wasn't ready to fight another war in my mind every night. So I decided to deal with your death the way I deal with everything else. I painted it on me. I put it on me so I couldn't forget you or change what you meant to me. I put a permanent 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes' sign on me. It was the least I could do after you saved my life." John smiled a bit at the end and Sherlock moved over toward him. Sherlock touched the skin where the violin was. His name was etched right over John's heart. John closed his eye at the contact once again and Sherlock put the information in his hard drive. Everything came together.

"This is why. This is what the argument was about. She was angry?" Sherlock breathed while he started at the tattoo. John nodded.

"She was angry but mostly confused I think. Sarah knew I had tattoos. She had seen some of them from working in the clinic and when we were together before, but when she unbuttoned my shirt…she got so mad. She thought I was using her. She thought I was trying to cover up…well she thought…" John trailed off and looked at the floor.

"Because you only started a relationship with her after I came back, the tattoo made her think you were using her to cover up that we had been together at some point." Sherlock said the words John couldn't.

"It was something like that. I tried to explain, but there seemed to be a grain of truth in everything she said. Then I came home and you noticed that everything had gone wrong and wouldn't let it go. So I had this constant reminder about that awful reaction," John shook his head. Sherlock still had his hand on John's chest. His heart was pounding so hard so fast. Sherlock could feel his own heart almost matching the speed. Regret coursed through him. He had brought up Sarah several times when John hadn't been thinking about her in order to try and see the tattoos. No wonder John never showed him the designs if his memories of how she reacted were so painful.

_Everyone rejects me. _The words echo in Sherlock's head as John continues looking at the ceiling. What should he do? Sherlock rewound everything John had said searching for something that he could use to get more data.

"How did I save your life?"

"The first case we took. Meeting you saved me from myself," John stated looking straight at Sherlock for the first time since he came downstairs. He ran through the case in his mind. It would seem that just the opposite was true. John had shot the cabbie with his gun, a loaded gun that he carried with him almost at all times…John had been depressed. _Nothing happens to me. _His therapist had written those words down. PTSD and returning soldier suicide rates flashed before his eyes. Sherlock grabbed John and pulled him into a fierce hug. John wrapped his arms around the other man and relaxed against him for just a moment and rested his head on Sherlock's chest.

"You saved me too you know." Sherlock mumbled into John's hair. They stayed there for a few moments. Then Sherlock broke the embrace. "Let's have a look at the rest of them."

"Light the fire? It's freezing in here." John grumbled. Sherlock did as asked.

He walked back over to John who still was still standing in the middle of the room. The rose and the lion were not as big as they had first seemed. They rested right across John's clavicle on his right side but were almost touching the hawk's tail feathers. The rose was planted between the rearing lion's back paws. The stem of the rose twisted around the lion's body and the lion's face was looking right while the rose seemed to face left. There was a gun inked on his left hip. The handle was the only thing Sherlock could seem above the bottoms John was wearing.

"Why the gun?"

"After my first tour, I came home and I couldn't relax. I felt like I needed a gun all the time to protect myself but I didn't own one then. So I put one on my hip. My head tricks me all the time doesn't it? My limp was all in my head and I tattoo a gun on my side just so my brain thinks I can shoot someone if they come after me." John explained. Sherlock ran one finger over the hip. John stiffened at the contact and it was recorded in Sherlock's mind.

Just up from the gun, Sherlock spied something that marked John but not from ink. Angry scars cut deep into John's skin just above his hip bones on both sides. Sherlock traced his fingers there. Once again John tensed.

"These are older and self inflicted," Sherlock mumbled. "How long ago?"

"Years…I was younger. Before I joined the army, things were rough. Family, friends, girls, school, everything seemed to be working against me. I had just finished medical school and things weren't working out for me. It helped for a while…" John trailed off.

"Until…"

"This one." John touched a particularly ugly mark. The deep scar trailed from his hip bone and was several inches long. "I cut too deep, slipped actually. It scared me enough, hurt and bled enough to scare the hell out of me. I stitched myself up and I promised myself I would change. I joined the army and things actually started to get better." He shrugged. Sherlock traced the scar from the top to bottom.

Sherlock ran his hands over the rest of the scars but didn't say anything. John started to fidget under the intense scrutiny. Sherlock moved back to examining the skin on John's chest. His fingers found the violin again and his examination moved out from there. Over John's right pectoral there was a patch of green ink. The Latin phrase '_dulce bellum inexpertis'_ wound around in a U shape and gold letters.

"War is sweet to those who have never experienced it," Sherlock muttered. John nods. This one Sherlock understood again. A brave young soldier comes home, but war is unkind to the best of men. "You do love birds and symbolism don't you." Sherlock smiled as moved over to the next tattoo.

"I told you fate is funny. I got this one just after I joined the army. Like I said I needed a fresh start." The next tattoo was a bright red phoenix. Its wings were outstretched across John's clavicle and his shoulder. The orange and reds were brilliant and mixed with fire. The black eyes of the bird were piercing but all knowing.

"A phoenix representing new beginnings," Sherlock touched the scars on John's hips again. John nodded.

"There used to be a pile of ash underneath him but now it's just the wings and head that are really intact." Sherlock continued to avoid John's stomach as he examined the bird then he lifted John's arm.

"Oh." Again Sherlock's surprise was obvious as his deep baritone voice breathed out the word. The dragon's wings on John's back almost came to the side of his body. When Sherlock moved his arm, he revealed a panel on his right side. The panel seemed to create a view inside John's body. A broken rib, torn lung and muscles that were tattered were all visible. This was the bullet's trajectory through John's body. All the damage was visible. A few more inches and John probably wouldn't have survived if had hit his heart or torn a bigger hole in his lungs. Sherlock swallowed at the thought. He traced the path along John's skin. John twisted to face Sherlock again. This time he couldn't avoid the mess of lines and designs along John's midsection on his left side. Below the green lain phrase, there were lines and they wrapped around John's side and under his arm. He lifted it as Sherlock prodded.

"This is a map?"

"Several maps interconnected," John answered. With that tiny piece of data Sherlock could see it all; at least he could see the London map. London city was drawn in black ink across John's ribs on his left side. The next layer was red but as he traced the lines he couldn't identify the city.

"London and another city, then there is an outline of our flat? Do you get lost here often John?" Sherlock chuckled, actually very curious why this map would be as important.

"The other city is Edinburgh. I spent a few months there before I came to live in London after the first tour in the army. It meant a lot to me during that time. Of course there was a girl there at the time too. That was one of the more impulsive ones. The flat is there because I was going to leave. I hated living here after you jumped. I hated everything then. I was always angry and I thought everyone was against me. I told Mrs. Hudson to sell everything here and rent it out again to someone else. I spend two weeks on Harry's couch then I moved into a new place for about a month. I got the tattoo then. I didn't want to forget, but I was angry at that point. By the end of the month at the new place, I missed that damn smiley on the wall so much I came back."

"I wanted to come back too," Sherlock murmured as he traced the lines of white ink of the flat on John's stomach. Sherlock got to his feet.

The last tattoo was on the other side of John's naval. It was a compass in black and white ink. There was a crown in the middle and the compass was pointing North off center just a bit to John's heart. Once again the design was complicated and full of symbolism.

"Follow your heart." Sherlock mumbled. He traced the outline of the compass.

"A little too sentimental for you?" John asked. There was amusement in his voice. Sherlock said nothing. He was completely focused on cataloguing the tattoos.

He walked around John and observed the inked skin again. The tattoos were incredible just as John was. After he and John had the conversation where John had mentioned he wouldn't be his lover because he feared Sherlock would leave after seeing his tats, Sherlock had thought very hard. He had always believed John was his friend but after the conversation he couldn't stop thinking about something beyond friendship. It always nagged at a corner of his very busy mind. _John's lips on his… John's lips on his skin…a touch, a caress…those inked arms and torso against his. He untangled his mind from the fantasy._ He studied John's back for just a moment.

"John, close your eyes." Sherlock murmured very low from behind him. John sighed but Sherlock thought he did as he was told.

He reached out and slowly ran two fingers down John's spine. John stood straight up and his breath caught but he didn't say anything. Sherlock catalogued the information once again. Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder and moved closer to him. John shifted uncomfortably. Sherlock knew it was because he didn't know what the contact meant. He wasn't sure what he should do.

The phone rang and broke the silence. For once Sherlock let the phone ring. He is completely focused on John's body….as well as the ink that covers his skin.

"Aren't you going to get that?" John asked after the second ring. Sherlock knows he is uncomfortable under the intense gaze especially with something that he had previously not wanted to share. Sherlock picked up the phone and walked away from John to talk to Lestrade.

**A/N: I'm having a little trouble with the next chapter so it might be a little longer between updates. I won't keep you waiting long I promise! **


	5. Reaching Conclusions

Chapter 5

After the phone rang, Sherlock had a case. It was going to be interesting, but he had almost turned it down anyway. If John hadn't run away as soon as Sherlock answered his mobile, Sherlock might have told Lestrade to forget about it. But the moment was gone, and John had disappeared again only to come back with layers on again. They didn't speak about the tattoos. Instead they tried to solve the case.

After a few days of this, Sherlock was frustrated. He was fairly sure that he had seen all the tattoos at that point, but he still wanted to study them more. He wanted to hear more of John's stories about them and look at the ink again.

It took them close to six weeks to catch the culprit. There was one murder every week then there were two one day. The murderess couldn't control her appetite for violence anymore. The statistical anomaly of a female serial killer had kept Sherlock busy and preoccupied until she slipped up and then Sherlock had her in a moment. During the case Sherlock had to resort to four patches in order to keep his mind entirely focused on the murderer rather than letting them wander to John. It wasn't just John's tattoos anymore either.

During the case a gap developed between them. It was difficult for Sherlock to focus if he let his thoughts stray to John and the tattoos, but he knew he was risking making John feel rejected by keeping him at arm's length. Once Sherlock caught the criminal, he was free to work on the tattoos and John's reactions.

Each time Sherlock had touched John's skin, there had been a reaction. Each time Sherlock had catalogued them in order to interpret them later. One day John had shuddered because Sherlock's hands were cold once, but there were times when he hands had been perfectly warm and John had flinched. Shuddered? Winced? Sherlock went over different words, different meanings, over and over. He worried if they were bad reactions, but he hoped that they meant good things.

The violin on John's chest was enough fuel to keep his brain working for a while but the data he had compiled wasn't enough. He needed more. All the meanings were obvious, but why John had done it was still curious to him. It seemed as though John placed each tattoo very carefully, but he had put Sherlock across his heart.

John claimed to be straight, but he had put a permanent tribute to a man over his heart and a dangerous, famous and dead man at that. Every female lover in his bed would see it and each encounter had the potential to be another Sarah. It puzzled Sherlock. He ran through memories of the past eight months since he had been home. As usual Angelo, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, even Mycroft had hinted at a relationship between the two of them again and again. Sherlock couldn't remember a single instance where John had reminded them they weren't a couple since he had come back from the dead.

He opened the box on patches beside his bed and John was at the clinic. It was 2pm. There wasn't a case pressing on him anymore, but Sherlock had to understand this. He put the first patch on. The drugs soothed his mind and let the background noise from the street disappear. Two patches and he was in his mind palace. Without the time constraints of stopping crime, two patches should be enough. He heard John shuffling around the flat after few hours but Sherlock ignored him for now. Later, John sighed. Sherlock wanted to reassure him.

"Just working out a problem John, I'll be fine." John just shook his head. He sifted through the touches, the tattoos and the reactions. He started to form a theory not only about John but about himself as well. John was everywhere in his mind. He could not shut the door on one thing and move onto the next without the other man being present. Other people in his life he could shove into a corner and forget about. John occupied the huge expanse of his mind. What could it mean? He continued to think.

A couple hours after that Sherlock opened his eyes. He had removed several solutions but he needed more data. Now it was dark. He looked at the clock. It was 1am. Sherlock sprinted up to John's room taking the stairs three at a time. John was sleeping but Sherlock jumped on his bed anyway. The room smelled of John's unique scent of soap, detergent and the light cologne he wore.

"Hurmph," John grunted. He was startled by the sudden presence and reached for his gun on the bedside table. Sherlock anticipated this and grabbed his wrist.

"It's just me John," he whispered in his ear. John relaxed, but not very much.

"What is it Sherlock? A case?" he was mumbling and irritated but tried to get up. Sherlock pushed him back down and braced himself on either side of John's shoulders. John was lying on his side blinking up at the detective.

"I need more data to find the solution."

"What's the problem?" John asked. He rolled onto his back now. No shirt. The violin stared up at Sherlock.

"This." He touched the design again. John tensed and scowled.

"Sherlock…" John started but Sherlock put his fingers on his lips. He quickly removed the finger and was sure that none of his skin was touching John's. He needed both of them to be completely focused.

"Or rather you. You thought I was dead and you put a permanent mark on your chest that represented me. Why?" Sherlock's voice was softer now curious John didn't answer and Sherlock rocked back on his heels instead of staring down at John.

Emotions were different for Sherlock. Like all the details he noticed in life, he couldn't let an emotion be a fleeting moment. When he did care, unusual but it had happened before, he cut it off in order to stop the distraction. His mind was strong enough to delete the information and he changed his behavior accordingly. Even so, this type of attachment ran deeper than anything he had ever experienced. John was not a distraction; he was exceptional case among the few. This little man with an average brain and average intelligence had somehow wormed his way into Sherlock's heart. Moriarty had known even before Sherlock did. His brain tried to find a way to explain the art on John's chest, but his heart kept getting in the way and denying him any other explanations. He hoped it meant John cared about him too, the way Sherlock wanted him to. In a way that he was only beginning to realize.

"I told you." John whispered. He sounded hurt. Sherlock frowned.

"I know but…John you knew that every woman you ever had a sexual relationship with in the future would see it. You knew it would be a problem. All the other tattoos have a specific purpose and a specific meaning. They are all a part of who you are. The parts that were placed onto top of scar tissue would have been painful to have inked. You have other spaces on your body; your army and your lower body, I believe, were all available but you chose over your heart where it would hurt and where it would be visible to anyone you let far enough into your life. This one, this tattoo…is different. Why?" Sherlock asked again. He continued to wait because the moonlight was on John's face. Sherlock determined he was trying to form an answer not closing himself off again. After a few more moments, Sherlock got some answers.

"Remember when you said that you wanted to know because it was me. It's there because it's you. Damn Sherlock couldn't you figure that one out? Mycroft worked for months behind the scenes to clear your name. It finally worked out. They were able to fix almost everything. Lestrade and I ended up working on cases after that because I wasn't an accomplice anymore so I could go back to work. It was all turning into boring normal life because I was working for the police and the clinic but I wasn't coming home to a sociopath using nicotine patches to figure out the latest serial killer's next move anymore." John sighed then laughed a little and shook the bed. He continued. "The dishes were done, the kitchen was clean, there weren't any explosions or fires. I should have been happy or relieved, but I was miserable. Even though Mycroft cleared you name, I couldn't stop thinking about what you said on the phone. You told me you were a fake. Mycroft never heard you say those words. It was like daggers. I had to drive that out. I had to stop the doubt. Because doubting in you was tearing me apart. The nightmares were worse than the ones about the war. You would jump. You would tell me you had lied about everything over and over. So I planned out the design. I planned on putting it on my forearm, left side, but I knew that wasn't where it belonged. Even my artist told me it wasn't the right place. So I changed it. As far as lovers go…it doesn't matter about them. I told you these are for me. If they can't accept it, if they can't accept that I have to run about at all hours of the night chasing criminals so I can sleep and live and keep going…then they can't be in my life." He took a deep breath and quietly added. He tried to find Sherlock's face in the darkness, but he had moved out of the light. "Maybe I don't need anyone else anyway."

Sherlock grinned even though John couldn't see. Now instead of pointing at the tattoo, Sherlock leaned forward again and placed his whole palm against it. John's breath caught in his throat. His heart was pounding against his ribs. It was all the encouragement Sherlock needed. The last piece of the puzzle was in place. Sherlock leaned down close to John's face.

"Sarah was a fool, but I'm grateful that she was." Sherlock smiled. "I've seen all your tattoos John. I'm not running and I'm not rejecting them. I have seen everything I wanted to but I want one more thing." Sherlock paused and leaned in to John's ear one more time. "I still want to be your lover John." He pulled back as John's eye snapped open.

"Out of all the reactions I've observed John in chemistry and between people, yours to my touch is my favorite. You shiver even when my hands are not cold, but you don't flinch away from me like so many other have. Your heart rate increases and you fidget when I look at you too long. I believe you have formed a romantic attachment to be John. " Sherlock whispered into John's ear. John's breathing was faster now. "Even when I go to my mind palace where everything should be organized, you occupy all of the rooms and memories. I can't put you in one place and lock you out of all the other rooms. It's a little like this flat. I cannot look around without being reminded of you. So I have come to the conclusion that I have also formed a romantic attachment to you John."

"O God, Sherlock." John breathed as Sherlock crashed his lips against his flatmate's. The kiss was heated but short. John suddenly broke the kiss looking nervous, hesitant. He searched Sherlock's eyes and looked away. For a moment, Sherlock feared John was going to push him away.

"Sherlock…is…is this… an experiment…of any kind? Because if it is, I mean there is only so much a man can take. I mean you died and then you came back and now…" Sherlock stopped John's words again with his fingers on his lips.

"Not an experiment. Not with you John."

"So this is real?"

"Yes," Sherlock hesitated. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No."

Both men smiled. He leaned close again and gently brushed his lips against John's. The other man lifted his head to press a kiss on Sherlock's lips. It was short and sweet and it begged to be reciprocated. Sherlock is now straddling John's hips. Their lips meet again and John reaches his hand out to cup the side of Sherlock's face. The touch startles him and when he gasps John takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. It lights them on fire. The dance that ensues is passionate but the deeper emotions play across their faces as well. Their hands explore and move as the kiss deepens. John has his hands on Sherlock's waist and rolls the tall man off his hips and lays him on the bed beside him.

"We'll have time for everything, but tonight, I need sleep. I have to go into the clinic early tomorrow." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but obliged John's request to wait until he isn't exhausted for more activities. John gives him one more fervent kiss. He would have never pushed himself on John but his newly found passion for the army doctor threatened to tear its way out of his chest.

John interlaced his fingers with Sherlock's and when he rolled over he put their intertwined hands over the violin and his heart. Sherlock was pulled against the length of John's body when he turned over. The intimacy of the gesture, and the planned positioning on John's part, makes Sherlock smile.

After a few minutes, John was asleep and all the noise in the room was gone except for John's slow rhythmic breathing. Somehow the man who never slept felt his eyelids drooping. He is happy this man is in his life. He is happy that Sarah was angry at John and for once Sherlock is happy that he jumped off the roof. If there had been no jump, his name wouldn't reside over John's heart.

John does not dream of war that night or any night after when he is in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock sleeps much more often. He is more tired more often but he is also safe and happy. The tattoos have brought them together on many levels.


	6. Night Talks and Epilogue

**A/n: Alright so I've been working on Stories in Ink and this has been bugging me to write it. I didn't want to put it into Stories in Ink so hopefully it fits in here. I think Sherlock would need more data to understand his feelings for John so here's more detail about the tattoos and more Johnlock. **

**Still it's sort of detached form the original…not really it just feels like it to me because I wrote it so long after the original. **

**Chapter 6**

The flu season could not have hit London at a worse time for Sherlock Holmes. The reporters declared it was the worst in ten years. Sherlock hadn't looked into the statistics and he knew you couldn't really tell how bad flu season was until it was over. Even so, he knew it was the worst flu season ever for him. It was two weeks after he had run upstairs to John's bed. Two weeks after he realized he was attached to John in a way that he had never desired to be attached to anyone. The discovery had made him happy and it seemed like John was happy too. Even so Sherlock wondered about his feelings and about John. Two weeks in doubt because they had no time to talk, touch or solve crimes. No time to discover what this really was. Sherlock feared second thoughts or realizations that John would have later when he wasn't sleep deprived or running out to the clinic at all hours. How many times had John declared he wasn't interested in being Sherlock's date? Sherlock's head swam with worry at some points.

The tension in the flat could have been cut by a knife. After realizing how significant the tattoo on John's chest was. He had finally confessed to John that he wanted him, cared for him, and had kissed John soundly in the middle of the night. After that John had asked for them to wait until he was home from the clinic to do anything else. Since that night the two of them saw next to nothing of each other because John was exhausted and worked long hours at the clinic.

When John had gone to the clinic the morning after Sherlock's realizations there were 15 cases of the flu queued up at the door. They hadn't stopped coming. When John got home the first night, Sherlock was out talking to Lestrade about another case.

_When will you be home? – JW_

Sherlock was wondering the same thing. He stood in front of Anderson who was glaring at him. The two of them still disagreed on what had killed the man on the street. Sherlock sent a quick text back to John.

_Don't know, Lestrade and the Yard are being idiots again. –SH_

_Saw 35 cases of flu today in 8 hours, I'm going to nap. Wake me up with you get home. - JW_

By the time Sherlock got home after dinner, John had fallen asleep on the couch. His breathing had been deep and regular just as it had been when Sherlock had attacked him in his bed the night before. This time though Sherlock regretted to wake John up when he was so obviously tired and he looked terribly uncomfortable. The deep purple circles under his eyes, the strange position he was in and the fact that he hadn't taken his shoes off all explained that John was exhausted. Sherlock remembered smiling a bit at the image in front of him. Sherlock had nudged the smaller man up just enough to move him up to his own room to sleep for the night. John fell back into a deep slumber and Sherlock continued experimenting downstairs. He remembered how unhappy he had been that John was tired, but he had known John had been treating sick people all day. Sherlock knew that should have consoled him, but it had really just annoyed him that others had more time with John that he did.

The day after that the good doctor arose early and went to work again. Sherlock was reassured that John has not forgotten about him only because he had stopped to catch Sherlock in a kiss. The detective was, surprisingly, caught off guard by it. John pulled away much too soon for Sherlock's liking, but he ran out the door after they shared a smile. Both of them moved on with their day while trying to ignore their need for time together until there was time and energy.

The next two weeks had gone by in a similar fashion with fewer intimate moments, fewer understanding looks and less conversation. The two of them barely spoke because John usually fell asleep just after dinner or Sherlock was thinking and didn't want to be disturbed. It all led up to the frustrated and insecure Sherlock that was lying awake in bed next to John. Normally he could analyze what a situation meant in moments. This was different for him. It was new. Sherlock had never let anyone into his life, not even his brother knew the fine details of his life. He felt the attachment, but he didn't understand it. The detective still worried that John would leave the flat now that things were different. He tried to work through the data and told himself the tattoos were enough information, but it wasn't. Sometimes it only made things worse. John had mentioned a tattoo that was about an ex-girlfriend. Would his relationship with Sherlock also disappear? Would John's feelings remain the same now that he was living with the detective again? Sherlock tried to reason with himself. He reminded himself that they had lived together for the eight months since Sherlock revealed he was alive so everything would be fine. But the fear and uncertainty were too much. He needed to know now...

Sherlock glanced at the clock. It was 5:15 am. It was fourteen days, four hours and fifteen minutes since Sherlock jumped into John's bed. Tonight Sherlock was lying on his back next to John as he slept on his side. He wrapped his arms around the doctor. John had crashed early in the evening immediately after he and Sherlock had done some crime solving and investigating activates on the other side of London. Sherlock had dragged him across London in hopes of returning some normalcy to their lives. Instead it had made them both tired and frustrated. He wanted to drag John up to the bedroom. Instead he had dragged him over half of London, due to Lestrade's orders than this criminal needed to be stopped as soon as possible. They hadn't caught the man either which only frustrated Sherlock even more.

In the last thirty seconds or so Sherlock had decided he couldn't continue like this. It was unknown how long this flu epidemic would last (mostly likely another couple of weeks but John would be busy with smaller numbers of cases for at least another month or longer). He couldn't sleep so he made up his mind that tonight he needed John awake far more than John needed sleep.

Sherlock traced the outline of the wing tattoo on John's back. John had started sleeping without a shirt since the two of them had started sleeping in the same bed mostly because of Sherlock's curiosity about the tattoos. Sherlock slept less than John and studied the tattoos when he joined him in bed. Because of this, the tattoos were very familiar to Sherlock now, and he continued to trace the black lines until John stirred. Sherlock knew the designs of the tattoos, but he wanted to know more. More details and more about John. More information would make him understand and hopefully make John stay. Sherlock began to place light kisses on John's back and then nipped on John's shoulders. He felt John stir in his sleep. Sherlock continued to trace the inked lines on John's back but lower along the dragon tattoo this time. As the doctor woke even more, he began to move and twist toward Sherlock.

"Sherlock…what's…case?"as he turned over Sherlock sat up and planted a kiss on his lips to silence him. John moaned into the kiss. The moan was deep and sleepy, but it sent shivers through Sherlock. John broke the kiss roughly. The kiss was short and meant just to silence John, but John flipped over to his other side immediately and locked lips with the detective again. His hands moved up on either side of Sherlock's head and his fingers twisted into Sherlock's curls as he deepened the kiss. He moaned again and this time it was Sherlock who broke away. He moved and planted kisses John's jaw line and down his throat. Sherlock almost laughed. He felt better already. John's reaction soothed his fears about John having second thoughts.

"Sherlock what's going on?" John questioned again amusement colored his voice.

"John, you've left me alone every day for fourteen days straight and I have no idea when I will get you all to myself again...Considering how devoted you are to your patients… I believe it will be quite a while until I get to spend any time with you during the day time…Therefore I have to insist we make time for some of these activities at night... Even if I have to wake you up at 5:15 in the morning," Sherlock explained in between kisses.

"We could have done this earlier if you hadn't led us on a goose chase all over London. What are you suggesting? We lay here and talk all night?" John murmured as he brushed his lips against Sherlock's temple.

"Lestrade is getting impatient for me to solve that case and I couldn't go without my blogger. If you didn't know, we haven't had a conversation that is more than three lines long in four days," Sherlock began to kiss John's throat again.

"You once told me you sometimes don't talk for days on end," John chuckled.

"Things change. Obviously," Sherlock told him as he drew lazy circles on John's abdomen with his long fingers. He made his way down to John's chest. He placed an open-mouth kiss on the violin over John's heart. As he pulled away, he traced the inked strings with his fingers which formed his own name. This tattoo, of course, was his favorite. John's tribute to the man he thought was dead. It was probably the most important piece of data Sherlock had used to conclude that he and John were romantically interested in each other. This had led to Sherlock sprinting up to John's bed in the middle of the night and informing John of his deductions. Sherlock kissed the tattoos, the ink, and the scars all over John's body.

"If you want us to have a conversation, you need to stop that. What do you want to talk about? Work again? Most of my stories will bore you," John warned and tried to look stern but his eyes were bright.

"No, but not the work either. I spend all day on that when you aren't here," Sherlock ran a hand over the snake's head.

"I've missed you," John told him.

"I know."

"You could tell me you missed me," John grumbled.

"I am," Sherlock told him. He kissed John again. The doctor laughed. Sherlock relaxed and traced the violin again. Sherlock opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"Go ahead," John sighed. He shook his head but the amused smile never faltered.

"Which one came first? "

"I got the Lion and Rose first. I was twenty and I saved little bits of money while I was in school until I could afford it,"

"A patriot before you were a war hero, then," John was propped up on his elbow now looking at Sherlock laying on his back.

"The next big one that I got was the wing. There were a couple in between but that was when I was almost done with medical school. I decided I needed something that really meant something to me."

"Sentiment," Sherlock scowled.

"You understand it better than you think," John challenged and chucked. He rolled over on his stomach.

"The wing," Sherlock touched the black piece of artwork on John's back. He wouldn't have thought the artwork was one of the first. He assumed the smaller ones were first. Building up tolerance…nothing too big…nothing that would attract attention. "Who rejected these?"

"People would think tattoos are just artwork, but they aren't. People think they have a say in them and what they mean. My friends in the army had some tats, but I was the only one who didn't want to share them all the time. Girls weren't impressed by tattoos because they weren't about pride and showing them off. Once people realize that it's all true they run. When something is a coping strategy it isn't as attractive." John explained. Sherlock ran a hand over the wing again.

"What about the maps? London and the flat are recent but Edinburgh?" Sherlock asked. _The girlfriend in Edinburgh. What about her?_

"I was there. I loved the city. It was important to me then."

"It isn't now?" _Will I be just as fleeting?_

"I haven't been there in years. My stay there was years ago."

"Sentiment fades then?"

"In some cases…Sherlock what's this about?" John glanced over at the detective and saw his troubled eyes.

"What about the girl?"

"Her name was Mary. She was sweet and she was a normal girl. She grounded me when I came back from tour. We thought we were in love. She was special."

"But she isn't special now, even though the tattoo still marks you, she isn't here,"

"Things change and we both figured out it wasn't going to last. The time and place are special to me even now." Sherlock was silent. John spoke again "But I didn't tattoo her name on my chest or hang around three years to see her again. I left after a month. I had to go back to my life and she didn't want to come along. You came back to me. I'm not going to run out on that."

Sherlock propped himself up on his arm. He stared at John. He smiled a little. Just the corner of his mouth turned up.

"Emotions," he sighed and shook his head. His curls flopped from side to side. _John, my emotions they make me so simple minded, but you can see through the fog. _

"This one was different," John touched his chest. "I told you this was important. It's not going to change. I know this is going to be hard. This is a permanent 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes' mark and I believe in this. Once this flu thing is over, things will get better. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's hard to believe it. You aren't the only one who's been rejected," Sherlock reminded him. _Father, roommates, friends, the rest of the family,….don't leave John. If you leave, what will I do? Who will understand me? _

"Then we only have each other," John smiled gently again. _Friends protect people. _They shared another kiss.

"I've missed you." The grin that spread across John's face reassured Sherlock even more that this man will not abandon him.

Six Months Later

John cares for the new tattoo on his forearm like a new born child. He cleans it and dresses it. He goes to the artist as often as he can to work on the design. Sherlock is not allowed to see the artwork until it is finished even though he had designed it. The two birds on John's forearm were to be a falcon and a nightingale with their foreheads pressed together. They had gone back to symbolism and birds. The falcon is a guardian as John is to Sherlock. He protects him from danger in the daytime but in the dark hours of night Sherlock protects John from the nightmares and the terror. The nightingale is a symbol of love. The two men love one another. They can never be a conventional relationship but they depend on one another for strength and understanding.

By now Sherlock has stored all the tattoos. There are seventeen in all. The fifteen he had seen originally plus there was a small design of a bone drawn on John's foot, a star on the back of his left calf and the two new birds that were being finished now. The file on John Watson continued to grow. Sherlock knew everything about the tattoos but he kept filing information about John's favorite ice cream, which toothbrush is John's, what John's favorite color, and where he grew up. These are all questions to which he had answers and felt the need to store. Information that floods his brain, and he never wants to delete.

They have been lovers for six months now. Sherlock stores all the information he can because just in case John tries to leave then he has a way to try to convince him to stay. It is unnecessary really. John knows he can never leave the man he has tattooed across his heart.

**A/N: That's it! I hope you enjoyed it! Input is appreciated. **

**Stories in Ink is a continuation/extra bits story that is related to this one. They include scenes where others see the tattoos and bits from when Sherlock is "dead." **

** If anyone wants to contribute ideas for that I will accept them wholeheartedly. I am running out of ideas. **


End file.
